


The First Few Weeks

by ElementarySaidHe (SupposedToBeWriting)



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: But Before Ep 76, Essentially Taking Place Right After Ep 75, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Platonic Relationships, Pretty Much In That Order Honestly, So Spoilers For That General Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/ElementarySaidHe
Summary: Devastated and alone, Sammy Stevens has just moved in Ben's apartment. Ben wants to make it all better, but this isn't a thing he can just fix out of thin air. He can definitely try, though. The first few weeks of Sammy moving into Ben's apartment, told in three parts.





	1. Sammy-Shaped Lump

The first few days had, at least, been busy. Sammy slept on the pull-out couch in the living room. The first twenty-four hours, they didn’t murmur more than a few words to each other. Sammy slept a lot – too much, in Ben’s opinion, to be healthy, but what mattered was that he was back and Ben would let him do this, just for a few days.

Sometimes he left his apartment. Ben had no idea where he’d go, and he sort of hated the way he wasn’t able to stop worrying whenever he stepped out the door. It wasn’t like he could keep Sammy locked up here, but he had asked Troy to just … keep an eye out.

One night, Sammy had returned and found that Ben’s office had been changed into a second bedroom. With Troy, Emily, Archie, and Chet’s help, it’d been quick work. Ben had put photos up of the two of them (after some deliberating with Emily to make sure that wasn’t _too much_ ), just to cheer Sammy up a little. He’d never figured he was an _amazing_ interior designer, but hey, he’d been in Sammy’s old apartment a thousand times and he sort of knew what the guy liked. He was big on nature. Nature stuff. He’d gotten a photo of a forest off the Internet and framed it.

Sammy must’ve come back when he out, to see his new room. Ben didn’t know how he reacted to it. When he got back, the bedroom door was shut. He had quietly cracked open the door, feeling only a _little_ like he was invading the guy’s privacy, and saw a Sammy-shaped lump in the bed.

He just wanted to _fix_ this. Jesus Christ. It tore him apart to see Sammy like this, miserable and quiet. And Sammy didn’t even want to _stay,_ but Sammy going wasn’t going to happen. Ben was going to make sure of that. He just needed to give Sammy time to …

Grieve? Sulk? Obsess?

Ben didn’t know. But he could always do something. When he did nothing, he started to think about stuff. Everything. How he’d known Sammy for years and he didn’t even have a _clue_ about Jack Wright. He wasn’t angry, not in the fucking slightest, but Sammy had sat there for years and watched him cry and lose his mind over Emily Potter. Had made it all about himself for years. And Sammy said _nothing._

This was the least he could do, and that would _never_ make up for it.

He’d been making plans, one night when he returned home. They could go to Glory Holes. Yeah. Sammy had never screamed ‘I’m a huge Putt-Putt guy’, but what better way to make him want to stay in King Falls than to show him the local wonders? They could go hiking. Sam was a big hiking guy. Sure, it sounded a little bit like Ben’s Own Personal Brand of Hell, but it’d be worth it, just to …

_God damn it_. Just to see his best friend smile again.

“Hey, Sammy,” Ben called out as he entered the apartment, shrugging a bag of groceries off his shoulder. “Have you eaten yet? I’m feeling some pancake puppies at Rose’s Diner. We haven’t been in _literally forever,_ and I think my body is having some weird withdrawals.”

No response. Ben checked the clock – _6:49 PM._ Sammy’s car was still outside, so he didn’t let panic overwhelm him yet, but … oh, who was he kidding. He was still worried.

“Sammy!” He called out again, walking towards his bedroom. Ben placed his ear against the door. Sometimes Sammy watched movies, there. Sometimes he heard typing. And, once in a while, he’d heard recordings of their radio show. Years back.

Nothing. His hand went to try the door handle, and it swung open. Sammy-shaped lump. Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he slowly went to shut the door.

He didn’t know how to _fix_ this. When Emily was gone, he had had things to do. He’d had the notebook. This, though? Sammy acted like he was just counting down the days until he was out of there, still. And … god, Ben didn’t want to know how Sammy would do when he was actually on his own. Even with Ben, he had tried to … he had …

His eyes were watering. _Damn it._ Ben leaned over the kitchen counter, rocking back and forth on his feet. He didn’t like to think about what Sammy had been doing in Perdition Woods. He wanted to think Sammy had been called, dragged there by some unknown force against his will, but god _damn it …_

It would get better. He would fix this and fix everything. He had a notebook. It had Jack Wright’s name on it. Not much else. But a name was a start.

Ben curled up with his laptop in his room and pulled up Shotgun Saturday Nights. He was moving through it, but finding old recordings was so damn difficult that he could only listen here and there. Mayor Grisham probably had most of them from that dirty attack ad he’d run, but Ben wasn’t confident enough that there was something to find to justify begging Grisham yet.

Still, he reached for his notebook and made notes to himself whenever Jack spoke up. There wasn’t much. Sammy talked a lot more back then. And whenever Jack started to get dangerously into conspiracy theories, Sammy shut it down almost immediately.

Kind of weird to hear stories about the textile factory and Kingsie from someone who hadn’t ever stepped _foot_ in King Falls, though.

_1:37 AM._ Man, when the new radio station was built, he was seriously going to have to rework his sleep schedule, because he was exhausted already. He shut down his laptop and took his headphones off, curling up against his side. It was another half hour of texting Emily various good night messages and cat emojis before Ben’s hand finally fell to the side, limp.

3:13 AM.

Ben woke up with a start. At first, he didn’t realize it, didn’t know what was going on, and his head stuck up awkwardly from the bed to listen.

_“No!”_ A yell, broken with panic and fear. It was coming from the direction of Sammy’s room. Ben didn’t even hesitate.

He pushed himself up off the bed, almost hitting the floor. At the last second, he landed on his feet and almost crashed through the door.

He didn’t know what it was – did someone break him? Maybe Gunderson had come in to end Sammy and his involvement once and for all. Maybe it was payback for Sammy beating the tar out of Grisham a few years back. Whatever it was, Ben was going to tear them apart with his bare fucking hands.

Ben grabbed the baseball bat from the coat closet. Yes, it might’ve been left over from his Little League days, by which he meant the three days his dear old Mom had a vain hope that Ben might do something bordering on team-building sport activity during his childhood, but it was still a bat. Just. Shorter than normal.

Sammy was still yelling, indistinctly now.

“I’m coming, Sammy!” Ben shouted, his socked feet slipping on the wooden floors to Sammy’s room. “I’m coming, just hold on!”

“ _The One!”_ Sammy screamed out, as if it was being pulled from his lungs. “No! You can’t – just – _THE ONE!”_ He hadn’t ever heard Sammy _scream_ like that before.

“Sammy! Sammy, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m – “ As Ben wrenched the door handle open, the side of his knee caught the doorframe. _Hard._ It sent Ben stumbling forward, his cheek sliding against the carpet of the bedroom a half-inch with his ass in the air. “ _Ungh,”_ he grumbled in pain, rolling to the side and pulling his knee against his chest. _Ow._

He heard frantic fumbling from up on the bed, the sound of bedding being tossed around, and then: “Ben?”

“Sammy!” Back on his mission, Ben popped up and half-jumped onto the bed to defeat whatever intruder was in his room.

Nothing.

Nobody. Just Sammy, with frizzy hair and covered in sweat and looking so, so tired. Looking at him with sleep-muddled confusion, bedsheets tossed around him. He was scruffy. He’d been crying. Ben made the realization quickly, and felt like an idiot for not knowing sooner.

“Hey. Hey, buddy,” Ben said, trying to move to sit more casually on Sam’s bed. “How’s, um. What’s, uh, what’s, what’s.” He blinked a few times, rapidly. “What’s up?”

“Why are you … “ Sam yawned and shuffled himself up into a sitting position. He reached over to turn the light on, showing Ben’s frantic face. “In my bed?”

_Oh, nothing, just a best bud checking on his other best bud. Not much, what’s up with you, how’s the weather?_

“Um,” Ben could only reply, his brain stopping. What was he supposed to say to this? He hadn’t seen Sammy like this before. Sad, upset, even, but not … like this.

“Was I having a … was I making noise? Did I wake you up?” Sammy grunted, reaching up for his hand to scrub the side of his face. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Just like that, Ben found his voice. “Making _noise?_ Sammy, you were _screaming._ I thought someone put a hit on you, or something, I … “ His voice fell quietly. “I was worried about you.”

“Is that why you have the baseball bat?” Sammy asked in a croaky voice, gesturing towards Ben’s weapon on the bed. “I have to say, the size of it is thematically appropriate.”

“Oh my God. I was gonna come in here and be all,” Ben waved it haphazardly, “But you gotta make it a height thing.”

“If the shoe fits. I’m, uh.” A pause. “Thanks for checking in on me. I’m sorry, I don’t, um. I usually sleep on my stomach, and that sort of, uh. Muffles the noise.”

“Hang on, you’ve been _having these_ before? I’ve just been in my bed, and you’ve been in here, just – just screaming, and crying, and –“

“They’re nightmares, Ben.” Sam’s voice was direct and cutting. “They’re not real. I’m not a baby.”

_I don’t care that they’re not real. And I mean, for God’s sake, they might mean something. Who knows, with this town? You could be predicting the apocalypse._ “Do you know what … what The One is? You were screaming about that.”

His friend was silent, looking down at the rumpled bedding around him.

O _kay, new topic._ “Do you need me to get anything? Do you want me to … to stay here, while you get some sleep? I mean, it’s not even four in the morning.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Sam put up a finger at Ben’s pre-emptive complaining. “No. I don’t need you staying in my bed – I know we’re friends. There’s just, you know. There’s limits, even with friends.”

Ben was _pretty_ sure the limit wasn’t ‘platonically sharing a bed’, especially a big one like this (courtesy of Chet, and him and Emily had personally bleached and disinfected it standing in the driveway of the apartment before it even _touched_ the interior). Still, he was a negotiator. He could negotiate. “Okay. What about if I just sit here until you fall asleep?”

“ _Ben.”_ Sam insisted, a small, exasperated laugh. His voice was still hoarse. “I’m _fine.”_

“ _Please,_ Sammy,” Ben requested, in a tone nearing a beg. “For me. I’m worried, man, okay. I’ve never heard someone scream like that from a dream. And with … with everything that’s gone on …”

_With you trying to kill yourself or die trying at Devil’s Door? With how my heart rate spikes very time I see that your car’s gone? With how I think that I’m not actually going to be able to convince you to stay, and it’s just going to be … The Ben Arnold Show?_

His friend saw the concern in his face and relented. “Yeah. Okay. Just until I fall asleep, and just because you’re worrying over nothing.”

“Oh, yeah. We should invite Troy over and make it a sleepover.”

“You wish.” Sammy chuckled, the noise getting caught in his throat. _Man, Sammy laughing is something I really, really missed._ “Um, if you’re getting up to put your Peewee bat away, can you … can you grab me a glass of water?”

He sounded like he needed it. Ben grinned at him. “Sure, buddy.”

After his formidable weapon was put away and a glass of water was retrieved from the kitchen, Ben went back to Sammy’s room.

Sammy was building a pillow bridge in the middle of the bed.

“Seriously, where did you _get_ that many pillows?”

Sammy jumped at the sudden question. “Uh, they’re from my apartment, most of them.” He continued building it, a long straight pillow barricade down the center of the bed. “I stored them in the closet.”

“And … _why_ are you walling the bed in half?”

“Because,” he replied, cutting himself off in a huff. “Okay. Look. I know you’re cool with me being gay. I know that’s a non-issue. But there’s a gigantic difference between ‘I don’t care if you’re interested in guys, Sammy’ and ‘Let’s share a bed, Sammy’. It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it, it’s better this way.”

Oh. Ben stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. The sight of Sammy, still with dried tear tracks on his face, building a pillow bridge in the middle of his bed because he thought _Ben_ might be uncomfortable?

He was going to find Jack again. He was going to bring Jack back to King Falls, he was going to make sure Sammy stayed here, and he was _never_ going to see that kind of self-conscious, guilty look on Sammy’s face again.

“No need for that, Sammy,” Ben replied with a joking dismissiveness. “Just letting you know right now – I’m way too good-looking for you _and_ I’m taken by the most beautiful woman in the world, so don’t get your hopes up.” Sam let out a snort. He sat on the edge of the bed and took one pillow from the pillow bridge. “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.”

“That’s the most modern wall-related reference you could make, huh?”

“The most modern one that doesn’t make me feel like a total skeeve, yup. Here’s your water.” Taking another pillow away from the bridge, Ben passed the glass of water over. “Sammy, I’m not weird about you being gay. I’m never going to be weird about you being gay. Literally nothing changed between us before me knowing and after me knowing.” He stuttered a bit. “Okay, I’m not saying nothing changed, I’m glad you have this chance to be more open about a important part of your identity, because it’s so important to express yourself, especially to the people who love you best, but we didn’t become _less_ good friends as a result of – “

“Please. _Please,_ where are the batteries in you,” Sam grunted, hand going to his face in mock agony. Ben stopped, continuing to divide pillows evenly between the two of them. Still, there was something soft in his face, and he didn’t stop Ben. “Thanks, Ben. You’ve been … “ He trailed off in a sigh. “You.”

“Uh, I think that’s a compliment?”

“It is.” Sammy downed his glass of water and set the empty cup on his nightstand, before reaching for the light. It turned off, and Ben could barely see Sam fold his arms behind his head. He definitely didn’t see the way his face crumpled or the way he pulled himself back together.

Ben settled on his side, his eyes on his friend.

“Are you staring at me?” Sam stumbled, eyes shut. “I can’t sleep if you’re staring at me.”

“You’re not even _looking_ at me,” Ben spluttered. “How do you know?”

“I feel it.”

“Nnh, okay,’ Ben acceded as he turned onto his side. A few minutes passed in silence. “But how am I gonna know when you fall asleep? So I can get out of your room. Like, is there a hand signal, or …?”

“ _Ben.”_

“I’m just asking! We made the rules of engagement very clear.”

“Just _stay,”_ Sammy finally sighed. “Or go, when you feel like it. I’m not obligating you to be here, just … do what you want, Ben. I don’t want to obligate you to do anything else.”

Else? _Else_ was a very charged word, in that context. Ben wanted to needle at him, to figure out what bullshit he precisely meant by else, and to hammer it down into his thick skull that none of this was obligation. That they were friends. Sure, he had never shared a bed with his friend before, but God knew he'd been at Sammy’s almost every day back during the bad days. Sammy didn’t have to do any of that.

“Okay, man, okay. Nighty-night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

He couldn’t see Sammy’s face, turned away from the man, but he liked to think he got a smile out of him. Ben closed his eyes and tugged the blanket around his body, trying to wrestle it away from the comparative mountain that was Sammy Stevens.

Ben managed to hold out for a while, long enough that he felt Sammy’s breathing even out behind him. Good. Even it was a few hours, Sammy needed to sleep. Deserved it. Maybe they’d do Rosie’s Diner in the morning, though he was starting to get a _little_ dependent on overnight oats.

He thought about the King Falls Farmer’s Market, about what they could throw into those oats, when he fell asleep.

-

It took a lot less to wake him up when he was resting right next to his friend.

Sammy hadn’t escalated to yelling yet. He wasn’t even thrashing. He _was_ tugging the blankets away from Ben, which he sort of figured, he seemed like a blanket hog, but … he was whimpering, too. His teeth were chattering. And his entire body was starting to tremble.

_God. How long have you been hiding this from me, Sammy? How long have you been in this bed, going through hell inside of your head, and not told me?_

Turning to face Sam, Ben reached over and put a hand on Sam’s back. He was in a fetal position facing away. “Hey,” he hushed, running his hand up and down the back of Sammy’s pajamas. “Hey, Sammy, it’s okay. Just a dream. I’m right here.”

Sammy seemed to jolt away from his touch. Ben reached forward again, going for his shoulder. God, he was so _tense._ “Sammy.’

“What? What, what – oh,” the man of the hour sniffed out, realizing who was touching him from behind. As he turned around to face Ben again … _Sammy was crying, again. Damn._ Fresh tear tracks. “Oh my God. I – _again,_ I’m so sorry.”

Without saying a word, Ben reached forward and hugged him.

One arm went over Sam’s shoulder, the other reached behind him under his other shoulder, and his hands met in the middle of Sammy’s back. Sammy froze for a second, clearly debating whether to turn him away or not, before he responded. He wrapped his arms around Ben tightly, his face pressing against his shorter friend’s shoulder.

Hugging Sammy was always sort of like being engulfed. The guy wasn’t exactly big, but he was tall and Ben was … less tall. So, when Sammy started to sob into Ben’s shoulder so hard that he shook, Ben felt himself shaking, too.

Ben could see Sammy’s alarm clock from there, over his shoulder. 6:49 AM. A few hours, at least, even if Ben still felt a little DOA. A nap was definitely in the future at some point during the day.

“Just let it out, Sammy. Let it out,” Ben encouraged. This was good for him, he told himself. Healthy, probably. “You’re always gonna have your best buddy Ben to cry on.” _Best buddy Ben? Nope, never saying that again._ “You’re okay.”

Ben had closed his eyes after a certain point, so he had no idea how long Sammy cried it out for. Eventually, the shaking stopped, the tears stopped, and he just went a little limp in his arms. He had a feeling he knew that expression on Sammy’s face _– what the hell do I say, now?_

“Line,” Ben joked with him awkwardly, still laughing as he pulled away. Sammy’s face was streaked with tears and bright red, but at least he wasn’t breaking down anymore. “I think I hear a shower and some overnight oats calling my name.”

Sammy was silent as Ben moved away, climbing off the bed. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I’ll … I’ll be there.”

With that, Ben was out Sammy’s door and retreating for the safety of his own bedroom.

It _was_ awkward. Ben wished it wasn’t, that he could just roll with the punches and be totally cool and capable with every emotional situation, but … he remembered walking in on his mom crying, once. She had been sick, and had taken time off work, but bills had started to pile up. Ben had only been ten or eleven at the time, and had no idea how to comfort her. He could only stand there and pat her back and come up with childlike, stupid suggestions to get her to laugh, all the while feeling like he was dying on the inside.

Sammy was his brother.

And, more than anything else in the world, it _hurt_ to see family cry.


	2. A Night To Himself

Sammy was sitting on Ben’s bed, watching him compare two shirts on hangars. “Okay, but the green will match her eyes,” he was muttering to himself, placing one shirt in front of his body and comparing it, “ _Buuuuuut_ her favorite color is yellow, so maybe,” The next shirt was placed in front of his body. After a few seconds, Ben only groaned in frustration. “Sammy help.”

It was a daily battle, the emotions inside of his head. Sammy hated referring to it like that. Like it was something valiant. Like he was doing something noble. Instead of trying to get over the fact that he was a gigantic coward who made everyone worry and hurt over him and the _single, sole_ reason why Ben was still there was because he was an amazing guy who never knew when to give up.

And the single, sole reason why Sammy was still there was because he couldn’t handle hurting Ben like that again.

It was an impasse.

Ben was in his bed a couple of times a week. He never started off there; Sammy didn’t want to get into the habit of going to bed with him. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, he’d hear Ben crawl on the other side of the bed with him as Sammy tried to calm himself down. Sometimes Sammy just woke up in the morning and found Ben beside him.

That entire agreement was less awkward now than it had been. A few mornings ago, Sammy had woken up with Ben inadvertently spooning him from behind. It had honestly felt like he was wearing a backpack. Ben had joked that he thought he’d been hugging a pillow, Sammy had responded with feigned hurt about the state of his musculature, and they’d just gotten up and had breakfast. He didn’t deserve Ben Arnold’s friendship, that was for _damn_ sure.

Ben had gone out before, but it was never for more than an hour or two at a time, maybe a few hours. No dates with the lovely Ms. Emily Potter. Sammy had a suspicion that Ben didn’t like to leave him alone too long, even when Sammy was just moping in his room.

Now, Ben was having a well-deserved night out.

“Whatever you wear, you’re wearing an undershirt with a vinyl Ghostbusters decal.”

Ben’s gaze was dumbfounded.

“It’s going to show underneath a light button-up, genius.”

“ _Aw, no,”_ Ben groaned, looking into his closet again. “I don’t have any other light shirts that are clean.”

Sam paused a second, as if regarding Ben, before he stood up. He went towards his room, rummaging through his chest of drawers, before returning with three white shirts in hand. “Here, try one of these on. They’re snug on me, so they might be good on you? And you can always tuck them into your pants if they’re too long.”

“You’re literally my lifesaver, Sammy.” Quickly, he started removing his undershirt to try on Sammy’s.

“Hey, not a problem.” There was a beat. “ _Benny.”_

The dark look he got was _definitely_ enough payment for letting Ben borrow his shirt. Sam leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Are you guys going somewhere fancy? You usually don’t dress that nice.”

“Is that a shot at my wardrobe, Stevens?” Ben jibed, turning around in the undershirt to see how low it went. “No, it’s just … it’s been a while since I’ve dressed up, you know? And we haven’t been dating that long. I want to impress her, y’know.”

“Mission already accomplished there.”

“ _More_ than that. It’s hard to explain. I want her to look at me and think, wow, Ben is a … a _swanky_ guy, I’m so glad I’m dating him.”

The adjective was so ridiculous that it made Sammy laugh, for the first time that day. He couldn’t stop until he felt it in his abs, small tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “ _Swanky?”_

“Shut up! You know what I meant!”

“You mean you want to wow her. That’s fine, Ben. Healthy, I’d say, actually.”

He didn’t hear anything for a while, and Sammy wondered whether Ben was getting close to talking about a Forbidden Topic. “So, um, I’m not really sure when I’m going to be back. If. Um,” Ben chuckled out. “But I will be back! And I’ll call. Before. Just so you know.”

 _Oh._ Sammy hadn’t considered the fact that he might be staying the night at Emily’s – or, alternatively, that Emily could be staying the night here. That made sense, though, they’d been dating for some time, dates didn’t have to end at dinner. They were all adults, here. “Oh. Yeah. If you want to come back here, I can … you know, make myself scarce, if you two want to be alone?”

“ _No.”_ The look of momentary panic in Ben’s face, reflected in the mirror in his closet back at Sammy … _damn_ it. “No, you can stay. I’ll be home before the night’s over, don’t … you know. No, you can stay.”

“Ben. Seriously, I don’t mind. I can find somewhere to stay for the night. You’ve been basically glued to my hip since I moved in, you deserve to have _one_ night for yourself.”

“No. No, you live here. You should be able to stay.”

“I’m a fully grown man, Ben, I think I can manage on my own for one night.”

At first, Sammy thought that Ben had dropped it. He finished putting on the button-up shirt, and was currently rummaging through his impressively large box of beanies to find something that would … match? Ben was matching a beanie to his shirt. _I feel like I’m a thousand goddamn years old. Is this a style?_

“Just give me the word, man.” Ben sounded shaken up again. “And I’ll … I’ll call Emily, and tell her I can’t go, and I’ll stay.”

Sammy wondered if it was because of the _damn_ nightmares. He knew he should’ve never let Ben get involved with those. For a few weeks, it had been fine, just crying and shouting into his pillow, but _one_ night and suddenly it was Ben’s Problem. And god, he probably didn’t even _want_ to invite Emily over, if there was a chance that she’d overhear it.

“What? No. God, no, Ben, you haven’t been on a date with Emily in forever.”

“I _mean_ it. Sammy.”

Sammy finally sat up on the bed, making eye contact with his friend in the mirror. Ben was looking back at him, a beanie clutched between his two hands. “No, Ben, _I_ mean it. You’ve already done enough for me. Too much.”

“No, no. And see, that’s the problem. I haven’t done _anything._ I haven’t been able to figure out … _anything!_ I mean, you almost get yourself – you almost _die_ in Perdition Woods, and the radio station gets destroyed, and I haven’t been able to do _anything_ about it. I should just … you know, I should stay home, and try to find something. Emily will get it.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. He loved Ben. Ben was like the little brother that he was _so_ glad he didn’t have growing up. But he didn’t know when to just … go along with what people said. “Ben.”

“Sammy, don’t. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“I needed to not be alone, and you let me move in with you. You got rid of your _office_ so I’d have a room to sleep in. And you’ve been … you’ve been understanding, you’ve been helpful, you’ve been more _patient_ than I could ever be.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m not doing _anything?”_

Ben was an emotional guy. To say he was ‘expressive’ was the same as saying as the lake was a little wet. Still, Sammy hadn’t gotten a glimpse of the restlessness, the anxiety that Ben had to have been feeling over nearly losing his best friend. The way Ben’s voice broke on _anything_ showed him that.

He pulled himself off the bed, taking a few steps to be in front of Ben. “There’s nothing to do. You’ve already done everything.”

Ben looked up at him, ready to argue, but Sammy just shook his head. “Go to your date, Ben. Have fun, have a good time, tell Emily I said hi. Let me know if you two want to come back to the apartment and I’ll make sure you two get some privacy.”

After a moment’s hesitation, wanting to argue, because Ben Arnold could never let anything just fucking _go,_ Ben just nodded. “Just … promise that –”

“I’m going to be here when you get back,” Sammy promised. “I promise.”

-

It was 8:49 PM, about two hours after Ben had finally left for his date. Honestly, even though he was grateful for Ben, it was good to have some solitude. He had a habit of locking himself in his bedroom and not coming out for hours when he was in a bad mood, but, even then, there was a difference between being alone in his room _with_ Ben in the apartment and being alone in his room _without_ Ben in the apartment.

He’d made the overnight oats for the night. Done all the laundry. Even cleaned the kitchen floor, and he was going to have some _strong_ words with Ben about the state of it. The kitchen floor did not double as a _trash can._ He was using a newspaper as a dustpan, for God’s sake.

Nearing 9, though, Sammy realized he wasn’t tired. He had run out of things to do, but he didn’t have an urge to go hide himself in his room yet. Instead, he just sat and stared at the wall, feeling … numb. No, not quite numb. Surreal. He’d been fighting the feeling ever since he had escaped the woods. Like this was all temporary.

His phone buzzed beside him in the silence of the apartment. Sammy fumbled for it and placed it against his ear. Didn’t take a genius to realize who was calling, unless something else had gone _very wrong_ in King Falls.

“Ben?”

“Sammy! Hey! How’s it going?”

Checking up on him. Ben really was a monster for control. Sammy smiled nonetheless, leaning back on the couch. “I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, but the apartment _is_ still standing. Despite the, frankly, hazardous kitchen hygiene.”

Ben snorted on the other side of the line. “Wow.”

“I’m getting you a dustpan for – “

Was he even going to be _around_ for Ben’s birthday? Or would he be up and gone by then? Blinking a few times, Sammy figured that he could … he could try optimism. “For your birthday. Sorry, choked on a, uh, piece of popcorn.”

“Yeah? Are you watching something?”

“Ben, you _definitely_ have something better to do than quizzing me about my Netflix history.” Sammy sighed. “I know why you’re doing this, and it’s appreciated, but I’m fine. How’s the date going?”

“She’s so perfect, Sammy. She’s like … “ He wondered if Ben was going to finish it up with _my angel,_ but considered her brush with death, and decided against it. “She’s like, like, my sun _and_ my stars?”

“Whoa, Dickinson, don’t burn yourself out there with that originality.” Sam grinned into the phone. “That’s really great, though, I’m glad to hear it. You’ve given her my best?”

“Yeah. She says she’s thrilled to hear that you’re, um, doing better, and she’s going to drop off some books that she’ll think you’ll like. And some cookies.”

Man, Emily _was_ an angel.

“Amazing. Thank her for me.”

“Already did. I was wondering, if, uh – speaking of Netflix, there’s this new documentary about yellow journalism in New York. And. Considering she’s, you know, a librarian. And I’m … “

“You’re … Incredibly awkward?”

“We could watch it later, if you want! If you’re interested in it. I mean, it looks really cool. And also really awful and _probably_ predicting the death of journalism. I was just planning on going over to hers, and it might run late, so I was just, you know, making sure that you’d be okay. If I wasn’t back until morning.”

Sammy had already figured. And frankly, part of him was grateful – the guilt at getting Ben to stay at the apartment, night after night, was starting to eat at him. “We don’t have to watch _every_ doc together, Ben. Tell you what, I’ll watch it separately and we’ll compare notes tomorrow about it.”

“Really? And … and you’re cool, with that?”

“I’ll extend your curfew until … 9 AM? 10 AM?”

Ben chuckled on the other side of the phone, but Sammy detected true gratitude in his voice. He continued. “I’m going to be fine, Ben. I know you think I’m falling to pieces. And … you know, maybe I was. Falling to pieces. But, _but,_ I’m fine, now. And you know what would make me feel a lot better?”

“What?”

“You _not_ acting like you’re putting me out because you have your own life.” Sammy stopped, tilting his head to the side in a curious smile. “But, you know what, you’d make a _great_ dad someday. You should have that talk with Emily tonight. Really go _all_ into the commitment conversations.”

The sound Ben made was somewhere between a whimper and a gag. They hadn’t been together that long, though they had sort of had a … head start. Sammy realized he _really_ liked giving him shit about it, though.

“Okay. Okay, we’re just finishing up here, so I’ll … I’ll see you in the morning. And if anything happens, or if you just want to talk, _call._ Don’t even hesitate.”

“And interrupt something?”

“I’m serious, here.”

Sammy nodded, his hand curling around the phone. “I know. And, like I said, I’m grateful. I’ll be fine, but I’ll call you if something happens.”

“Good. Talk to you later.”

“See you in the morning.”

A night to himself, then. An entire night. Sammy didn’t know what to do with himself, at first, but …

Hey, a documentary _might_ be something. And he was getting kind of peckish, and he hadn’t made popcorn in a long time. There was still some leftover kernels from the last time he’d made it for Ben, introducing him to the miracle of chili powder on it. If only Ben could handle spice, at all.

A half hour later, Sammy was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a comically oversized bowl of popcorn. He’d save some for Ben tomorrow. Emily, too, as thanks for the future cookies and books. A bottle of beer was cracked open on the table next to him, and he was flicking through Netflix trying to find that documentary. His laptop, open for notes, was sitting open next to him.


	3. Sleeping Beauty

“Uh-uh. Sammy Stevens, we have had this talk. You are not making dinner tonight. Put the pan _down.”_ Ben marched into the kitchen, hands on his hips. Halfway bent to retrieve the pot from the appropriate drawer, Sammy froze. Still, the pot remained clutched in his grip. He’d _already_ gotten the ingredients out for a chicken tikka masala.

“What talk? I don’t remember a talk. No talk.”

“You’ve been cooking dinner every night since you moved in, Sammy. _And_ every breakfast. And you pretty much offer lunch every day, too. I _got_ this.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your cooking …” There was a pause. “But I don’t trust your cooking.”

“ _The audacity!”_ Ben yelped at him, going over and putting his hand over the pack of chicken. “I’ll have you know I did a test pilot of the recipe with Emily, and it turned out fine. She said it was _very_ edible.”

“Oh, very edible, huh? My hopes are _soaring.”_

“Sammy, come on.” Ben leaned his elbow on the counter, staring up at his friend. It was sometimes hard to tell what was Sammy offering to do something because he was an all around nice guy, or because he still felt like he was some sort of burden. In the apartment he _paid rent on._ They just had to wait until the end of the month to add him officially to the lease. “One night, okay?”

“Ben,” Sammy sighed.

“C’mon. One night. It’s alfredo. I can _do_ alfredo.”

Sammy didn’t look like he was going to let go of the pan anytime soon. This was definitely veering into ‘I feel like I have to do this or else I’m a burden’ territory, though Ben was no armchair psychologist. Ben’s eyes darted into the living room.

“I’ll Mariokart you for it.”

“What?”

“Mariokart. If you win, you get to make your delicious … vegetable-laden tikka masala. Seriously, Sammy, I think you’ve got an entire forest there. If _I_ win, I get to make buttery, creamy alfredo with absolutely no vegetables in sight.”

“Actually, it’s pretty common to put broccoli or peas there, to add a bit of –”

“ _No vegetables in sight._ Do we have a deal?”

After a second of deliberation, Ben let out a sigh of relief when Sammy agreed. Ben deflated in relief _._ “Okay. But I’m telling you, I’m going to beat your ass. I just think it’s fair to give you a heads-up.”

“Dream on. I was a lonely latchkey kid with no friends, so I _ruled_ at videogames.” He tossed a controller to Sammy and booted up the game. “Prepare to carboload so bad that you won’t be able to _move,_ Stevens.”

Sammy rolled his eyes at him, but nonetheless sat on the couch. Ben sat cross-legged, controller in his lap, as he settled on Daisy and gave Sammy shit for picking Dry Bones ( _seriously, he’s, like, barely even a canon Mario character)_.

As they played, Ben shifted his weight from side to side, turning along with the characters on screen. Sammy tried to play it cool at first, but as the game went on, he leaned forward in his seat, elbows almost touching his knees.

“ _Bullshit!”_ Sammy finally cursed in anger, back slamming against the couch. “It’s _bullshit,_ why would they give you a blue shell that late in the game? Jack-in-the-box _Jesus.”_

“Don’t blame the game mechanics for being an inferior Mariokart player, Sammy. Do you think they have pro Mariokart? I think I could go pro.”

“Uh-uh. We’re doing that again. Load up Bowser’s Castle and I _will_ kick your ass. And don’t you pull any blue shell bullshit on me.”

“Awww, Sammy’s a sore loser,” Ben replied jokingly, reaching for his controller again. “Sure, I’ll beat you twice.”

This time around, Sammy was on edge the entire time, leaning forward on his knees. Ben noticed once or twice that the glare he was giving the screen was bordering on _homicidal._ “Screenwatcher,” Sammy accused through gritted teeth as they neared the last lap.

“Am not. You just gotta get good, Sammy --- _aww, no_ , stupid computer,” Ben whined as he was swiftly slowed by a derelict banana peel. That had lost his lead.

Sammy placed the controller on the couch next to him, hands up in the air in mock congratulations. “Please, no photos, no photos, I do it all for my fans.”

“Okay – first of all, that’s no way to maintain your fame. _Second of all,_ we’re tied, so we have to do the best out of three. All of this before, Sammy? Just _kiddy stuff._ But now? Now! The kiddy gloves are _off._ We’re doing Rainbow Road.’

“Oh my God, Rainbow Road,” Sammy remarked in awe, but nonetheless took up the controller again.

“Yup. Where the _elites_ are separated from the _rookies._ You better be ready for me to have bragging rights for a lifetime, Stevens.”

The round finished quickly, to Ben’s chagrin. The next hour was filled with a series of escalating rounds ( _best out of 5? Best out of 7? Best out of 9? Best out of … where are we at? I don’t know, Sammy, but all I know is that I will continue to kick your ass all night)_ until Ben heard Sammy’s stomach grumble next to him.

His own stomach returned a similarly mournful sound, and he checked his phone. 8:14 PM. Well, so much for dinner. Ben hardly noticed as he looked at the screen again, tense.

“Oh,” Sammy muttered, realizing, and glancing towards the kitchen. “I can make something quickly – I’ve got some leftover popcorn from a few nights ago.”

“The correct answer is pizza.” Ben didn’t look away from the screen, reaching for his phone. “What do you want on your half?”

“Are you – are you texting and driving, Ben?” 

“Wow. Did you say ‘I really want anchovies more than anything’ on my half? That’s what I heard.”

“I’ve _had_ anchovies before. They’re honestly not that bad. Just salty.”

“ _I’m_ about to get really salty if you don’t – “ Ben quietly howled in frustration, body falling back on the couch. He sulked momentarily, bringing his legs up to his chest. “That was a cheap blow. You’d rather take _me_ out than the actual computer player? It’s us against _all of them,_ Sammy.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works. Free-for-all for a reason.”

“Free-for-all my ass.” He pulled up the delivery website on his phone, holding it far above his head. “Oh my God, I could _demolish_ some stuffed crust right now.”

“ _Yes,”_ Sammy sighed hungrily. “Okay. My half, banana peppers, mushrooms, and onions. Oh, do they have bell peppers, too? Also bell peppers.”

“Cool, and I’m making a _special_ note to keep your half far, far away from _my_ half of delicious extra cheese and turkey pepperoni. Oh shit, they have those lava cakes. We’re definitely getting lava cakes.” He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Sammy reach for a wallet. “Put it _back_ in your pants, Sammy Stevens, I got this.”

“Ben, no. At least let me pay for –”

“No? I won the most games. Therefore, I get to cook. And, as is the Arnold family tradition once or twice a week, I would rather get delivery.”

“You definitely did not win the most games!”

“Can’t prove otherwise, huh?”

“No. No, okay, all the other ones didn’t count. We’re starting count …” Sammy hastily opened his laptop, setting it in front of him and opening up a notepad. “We’re starting count _now,_ Arnold. Your ass is grass, and I am going to _mow_ it."

-

The final score had been 27-25, and Ben had gloated appropriately. Sammy had glowered and glared, sure, but privately, Ben thought it might not have been _really_ fair – the last four games, Sammy had barely been awake for it. He had lost one of those games because he’d been staring at the wrong screen, watching Luigi run himself straight into a wall over and over. So he didn’t gloat _too_ much.

In front of them was an empty pizza box and an empty polystyrene container smeared with chocolate. As the victory screen flashed up at them, Ben yawned and leaned back on the couch. “Sammy,” he muttered, looking at his phone. Cool, one in the morning. Cool cool cool. “Sammy, we should probably, we should probably, you know. Bed,” he mumbled groggily to himself.

No response from the Sammy-shaped lump next to him. Ben tilted his head to look on the other side of the couch.

Sammy’s face was _smeared_ with chocolate and there was definitely a mushroom on his grease-stained shirt. Two empty beer bottles were next to him, the brief break where Ben had pulled out the rest of their beer into the living room. The controller was resting on his chest. His head was tilted back, and Sammy was fast asleep.

“Oh my God, you are gonna hate me so, so much,” Ben snickered as he reached for his phone. He focused on Sammy’s face, making sure to get the errant mushroom in the picture, and snapped it. It was quickly sent along to Emily with the caption _< 3 <3 <3 Sleeping Beauty <3 <3 <3 _underneath.

It wasn’t like Ben was any less tired, beside himself. He knew he should get up and toss everything out, even wake Sammy up and get him to bed.

But … couch comfy. Bed so very _far._

He was just going to rest his eyes and get up later. That victory music was kind of soothing, even when it looped over and over. And over. Placing the controller to the side, Ben kicked his legs up on the sofa. Sammy’s feet were already pressed against his calves, because Sammy was a gargantuan of a man. Ben rested his feet in between Sammy’s side and the couch as he laid down.

“Blanket. Mm.” Reaching for the blanket slung over the back of the couch, Ben haphazardly spread it out over them before settling himself on the raggedy old pillow he’d once picked up from Ron’s Bait and Tackle Shop as a souvenir for Sammy, when he first moved in. _King Falls is a Whopper of a Tale!_

Somehow, it’d ended up in his apartment again, before Sammy had even moved in. Jerk. At least it’d been better than the alternative welcome-to-King-Falls souvenir, a mug from Sassy’s House of Ass that read ‘ _King Falls: Full of Sass!’_ that read something else _entirely_ when it was hot. It also was shaped like a pair of breasts, which, frankly, was off-brand for Sassy’s whole shtick.

Sammy grumbled on the other side of the couch, but not like he was having a nightmare. More like … oh, yeah, Ben supposed his feet were pretty cold. They’d warm up.

It’d been a good night, he later considered. He was so full he couldn’t move, he’d played a frankly unhealthy amount of Mariokart with Sammy, and … Sammy had been smiling. Laughing. Bantering with him, more than he had seen for a long time, now. Since he’d moved in.

Not every night would be like this, Ben knew. He’d seen that, first hand. But if this was progress, Ben was perfectly satisfied with the world.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a quick idea that was kicking around in the back of my head as I was listening -- how the first few weeks of Sammy moving in would've been, and how Ben would've reacted to all of it. In particular, I had these three scenes set in my head -- Ben finding out about the nightmares, Sammy's first night alone, and them having a good night together, as well as how both of their self-imposed guilt influences their actions. Their friendship is genuinely probably my favorite part of the show. I also did want to make the end a little hopeful, because while Sammy isn't exactly an optimistic person, he has recovered a LOT (especially considering what he's been through)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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